


"R/B."

by crionsmush



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Writing, Best Friends, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Buzzfeed Unsolved True Crime, Developing Friendships, Epic Bromance, Epic Friendship, Everything Hurts, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, False Accusations, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Panic, Gen, Heavy Angst, I don't know???, I think it still is??, I'm Bad At Summaries, Implied/Referenced Torture, Love/Hate, M/M, Partners in Crime, Partnership, Pining, Platonic Relationships, Platonic to romance, Ricky/C.C?, Secret Crush, Trust, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, YOU THOUGHT THIS WAS PLATONIC?, i don't know her, idk what else, please be careful reading, silliness, this was supposed to be a oneshot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-16 00:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17539448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crionsmush/pseuds/crionsmush
Summary: “I'm not a child, I've witnessed hundreds of bodies and saw culprits before. This isn't an exception.” Tinsley exclaimed.Francesca's eyes narrow sharply, “It is. You just don't understand.”





	"R/B."

**Author's Note:**

> alternate summary:  
> banjo and ricky are kind of gay for each other, and only one of the investigators ship it hard while the other hates it.
> 
> or,
> 
> two dorks and two friends enter a chase.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~there has been so many summaries it's not even funny.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> even though I looked through this twice I'm afraid that I might have some errors, please point them out if you ever see one! typos, grammar, it's okay!! grammar nazis are welcome.

“Do you always have to play that stupid banjo?” Ricky spat with a glare as he turned around. That fool was playing and humming _The Devil Went Down To Georgia_ quietly as he could. Ricky wanted to say the fool hadn't helped at all, but that would be a lie.

The serial killer was currently positioning the bodies in an odd position to make the police freak out. It's fun to see them flip, actually. Ricky tends to throw in random bullshit to throw them off, sometimes they think it's a lead. It's not. It's just for fun. All of this, for fun.

The dismembered body was all his doing, his alone. His idea. He had some assistance, yes. But I promise, he did most of the cruel work.

His friend and fool, Banjo McClintock, is leaning against the cream wall playing his banjo four feet away from him. He loves instruments, specifically stringed ones. The male grins, “Always, Ricky-Rick. It gives the scene some feeling, y'know?” He hastily brushes his fingers through the string for a few brief seconds, Ricky deadpans at his action.

The man facepalms as he looks back to his masterpiece. The song doesn't fit in. Though, the corpse is looking quite fine. Not in a necrophilia-way, oh no. That's gross, even for Ricky. It's just that even though she's butchered, even though her limbs are kind of all over the place, she's still pretty. “You are insufferable.”

Banjo chirps, “You know me so well.” Ricky rolls his eyes.

He stops playing his banjo, putting it back behind his back. He adjusts his fedits and moves forward beside the crouching serial killer to aid him with a knife, Ricky nods as a thank you before carving ‘R/B’ into the body. Banjo watches with interest.

The tall man tilts his head, he raises a hand to point at the two letters. “ _R-slash-B_? How cryptic are we going here?” He comments, even though they've carved their intitials numerous times. R for Ricky, B for Banjo. Though, they've never done R/B before. They used to do R.G and B.M separately. People theorized they were partners, and some theorized that they did their murders individually. Crazy.

Ricky grins, an insane glint in his nonchalant eyes. He stands up, holding the bloodied item in his gloved hands. “I just want to see their reactions, I want know if they think it's a different person altogether.” He replies, tracing the knife with his free hand. Banjo raises his eyebrows, he eyes the corpse before them.

He nearly pitied her, nearly. Then he remembered how much time and effort they placed into this murder, it wasn't sloppy. None of it was sloppy. They really tried to push themselves this time. _Rest in peace_ , Banjo thought before returning his gaze to Ricky.

“Sheesh, Richard. You really are giving that detective a run for his money, he's going to cry to his parents! Poor kid.” Banjo remarked with mock pity. Him and Ricky are intrigued with the integrity of the new detective on the job assigned for them, he was always making several theories and was maybe going insane — what was his name again? Tinsel? Tani? Oh, who cares.

Ricky barks out a laugh, ignoring being called his normal, actual name. He would've called Banjo his regular name to spite him, but he restrained. Tonight was unintentionally special, and besides, they already had an argument about avocado and guacamole ice-cream this morning.

Banjo's a wuss when it comes to avocados and Ricky doesn't push too hard, thankfully. He's only been told a story when Banjo was somewhere in his adolescent years when he tried to some thing with the avocado pit. What a guy.

Ricky puts his knife back in his pockets. “Whatever. He's always tried to connect dots together, useless.” Ricky turns toward the door after doing a double-check if they left any clues that could screw them up, when he found no flaws. He turned to Banjo.

Banjo raised his two fingers to adjust his imaginary glasses, imitating the detective. He straightens his posture, putting his elbow on his hand. Trying to appear smart, “Ooh, these dicks surely have it in for me now. Whatever could I do? Time to be sleep-deprived once again!” Ricky smirks in amusement, letting out a chuckle.

The two shared a cocky, devious look that only maniacs who should be sent to an asylum could understand. Banjo winked which had snapped the tiny man out of whatever trance he was in, Ricky blinked in surprise, a little pink in the face before sending a sharp look at the man. Afterwards, Ricky turned to the nearest window and exited it grumpily

Banjo frowns as he watched Ricky leave through the pane, the man waited for him on the other side. A devious glint of mischief in his eyes. Banjo narrowed his eyes, he didn't get it at first. Then he studied the size of the — Oh, that prick. He knew that the window was probably too small for him to climb out. Cunt.

“You cheeky bastard.” The long legged man muttered.

The serial killer bowed, “Why thank you, I try to be.”

Banjo left through the back door, the both of them fled the scene with crooked smiles.

 

* * *

 

_..Two days later._

 

The detective is currently sitting in his office, his frame in front of the bulletin board full of pictures and red string. C.C Tinsley's mind was on the new initials that were carved on the body. The fancy, cursive R separated by the B because of a slash; R/B.

Why was there a new set of initials? At first, Tinsley thought it was a new murderer altogether, but an individual whose expertise was reading and studying handwriting confirmed it was the same guy as before. Why?

What could it mean? Red slash blue? A new alias? The first letters to the culprit's real name? The questions go on a long way, but nobody had the answers except those who started them. Tinsley sighed, he walked to his desk; he sat down and leaned back, closing his eyes. He was distressed. He needed some coffee, but that would slow him down.

No other items used in the house indicated anything. There wasn't any fingerprints, there wasn't a knife that had the blood of the victim. Not even the knives in the kitchen where touched or stained, it was another item. How did Tinsley know it was a knife? Stab wounds.

And — Tinsley shivered — there was some.. gruesome decorating on the victim's dismembered body. Oh, the smell was horrible. He pushed the image of the corpse out of his head, his mind concentrated on the new intitials. Why? How? When? Where? Is there a reason it changed?

Then, his mind made a breakthrough.

It's a bit far-fetched, a bit crazy. He knows. The detective knows. His mind is hazy and he's sleep-deprived, his brain is a bit all over the place so all the thoughts in his head aren't properly thought through. He opens his mind, eyeing the ceiling of his office.

He remembers theories about how two culprits were both in the murders, he squints his eyes. What was it again? His brain started to hurt, or maybe that was just a migraine. Tinsley thought harder as he thought of the two separate intitials that were distant in his slowly static mind.

It was there, through the distorted, tired, and exhausted parts of his mind. He tries harder.

There. Right there. Two of them.

R.G and B.M.

Nobody knows what they mean yet, they never hinted at anything. There were a few suspects but that gut feeling Tinsley has tells him that they aren't the one. Everybody thought they were either separate killers with similar killing methods, or they were a collaborative team. And to Tinsley and his droopy mind, they were more than just a team.

They were a couple.

The detective straightened, it made so much sense. His mind was slowly coming together. Perhaps when the two separate initials were divided, they were still in friendship status. Crooked, twisted friendship that slowly turned into something else, something that blossomed as they worked together.

Tinsley noticed that the body was more messed up than usual. Maybe they worked together, as some kind of celebration. Some kind of wicked, broken celebration. The day the victim was murdered was probably the day they got together, or maybe a day before. It could be anytime. Was this their honeymoon? Did they fornicate? Oh, goodness no. The thought made him cringe.

Now that he thought of it, it's been awhile since their last murder. They must've had a break, maybe after their last one, it was the day they got together. Whoever R.G and B.M were, they're a thing. Everybody called them  _The Ghouls_ for reasons Tinsley has no clue about, he never got into the fun stuff. Only the serious parts.

Maybe the slash stood for 'and'? Like a conjoined thing. Instead of R-slash-B, it was R-and-B; the first letter of their names. This is a beautifully gross love story that should continue in an asylum.

A woman came in his office, making Tinsley jump. His thoughts halted as he saw a familiar petite female standing there, Francesa Norris. His partner in solving crime; The Crime Solving Duo. Her eyes were wide with interest, “Woah, Tins. You okay? What's got you smiling? I haven't seen that face in a long time.” Francesa walked forward, handing him coffee. Just what he needed. He took a sip.

Tinsley stood up from his chair, he walked towards the blackboard located somewhere on his office wall. He got a chalk ready in his hands, his expression firm and determined. He has no idea why he's so pumped about this specific thing, he just _is_. He's so tired, he's been feeling so awful. This is a feeling he should cherish; hope.

“Francesa,” Francesa narrows her eyes in concern. “I have a new theory in town.”

 

* * *

 

Banjo threw his head back, his hand holding his chest as his friend beside him smirks. They're currently reading the headlines, and it is beyond entertaining. “Are they _serious_?” Banjo wheezed, he doubled over in his chair in their isolated cottage. Ricky let out a soft snicker.

How naïve their detective was, but he was oh so very entertaining than the previous ones.

Detective C.C Tinsley, a poor soul, has just given the possibility of The Ghouls being a couple. A flipping couple! Banjo leans back against his chair, his sides were starting to hurt. At first, Ricky thought it was bull until he read the article. He thought there was going to be masses amounts of negative comments, there barely was any; a minority. But the majority? Ridiculous!

There was an enormous amount of people pitching in the idea, saying _it makes sense!_ and _they've been together all this time!_ and more hilarious comments and theories. Some, the more smarter people, said no. Said they were simply partners in crime, then some people asked them why would they fuse their signature intitials together?

Man, haven't they thought of friendships? Or is the word ‘friends’ forbidden to mix with the term ‘killers’, hmm? Well, they won't blame you.

Ricky stifled a smile. Seeing, the struggle on his face, Banjo continued to cackle. He forced himself to compose and calm, he wrapped an around around Ricky after scooting closer to the little guy. Ricky didn't tense, his lopsided smile was out in the open.

Banjo leaned his face closer, “Hewwo honey munchkins, I wuv you so much.” He mocked with a smile that's a bit too wide, he tried to be affectionate. That's what these losers want, right?

Ricky spluttered, a face of pure joy. No murderous intent in them, nothing scary. Just positivity, he looked almost pure. Something Banjo hasn't seen in awhile, it was contagious. The smaller man put a hand on Banjo's chest and pushed him away, “Oh, shut up. Sasquatch.”

Banjo's face brightened, his heart pumping for no reason. He gestured to the computer, “I think we should go with the flow of us being in a relationship, make them go ham.” Banjo suggested.

Ricky rolls his eyes, he acted like he wasn't keen on the idea. However; Banjo McClintock, the close and best friend of Ricky Goldsworth, knew better than to fall for his uncaring facade. He was interested and he knows it.

He nudges Ricky, “Come on, we could add some drama. It'll be an excuse to clobber the victims into a pulp, we could be even more creative.” He proposed with his hands raised in the air, fingers flailing to add more to his threatric act.

Ricky gave a lopsided grin, he leaned on the desk. Banjo searched for the wonders on Ricky's handsome face, and he did. Ricky's supposedly blank eyes twinkled; there it was, the glint of interest. Banjo attempted to round in on that glint.

“Are we going to keep this going for months before ‘breaking up’ and raise hell out of ‘frustration’?” Ricky gave quotation marks for necessary words. His face slowly shifted into a nonchalant expression, Banjo nodded vigorously. Imagine the fear that they could erupt, imagine the pressure they could plant on Mr. Detective.

It was so juicy, Banjo wanted to wreak mental havoc on to that man. He wanted to cause fear to everyone. He grinned crookedly while keeping his face passive, he looked insane. It was hard to decide who was the more manic one between the two, sometimes.

Ricky rolls his eyes. “Do you want to send letters to them? You seem like you would.”

“Alas, Ricky,” Banjo started. “Do you always need to expose me like this?”

“I'm not exposing you to anyone, dude. I wouldn't anyway.” Ricky answered, his eyes continued to read the article. His eyes glassy.

Banjo's lips curled upwards, his eyes crinkling. It was sappy. “I know you won't, you precious little bean.” Banjo talked in everyone's weird puppy voice, Ricky gave him a scrutinized and partially disgusted expression. They know they're not worthy of being called a precious little bean. But, Ricky's focusing on the word _little_. Not precious bean.

Ricky scoffed and gave his full attention to the computer, finally getting into the proper theories that were too far off and some were decent. It was quiet for a few minutes before any of them spoke, “I'm not little.” Ricky muttered.

Banjo smirked. “Yes, you are.”

“I will not hesitate to bring proper deliverance to your backside.” Ricky shot back, his eyes glimmering dangerously. Like a flame, unfortunately; Banjo was a moth and he was attracted to it. He wasn't scared of Ricky. He can't see him as the cold killer everybody says he is, he's a killer who's a dork in his eyes.

Banjo snickered before speaking, “That's one way to say _I'll whoop yo' ass_ , how clever.” Banjo complimented, Ricky narrows his eyes and stands up. He walks out of the living room quietly, not saying a word.

After being alone for a couple minutes and deciding his buddy isn't coming back. Banjo got his instrument in hand to play with.

He began to play a song to take off his mind of what Ricky is doing. No doubt he's in their basement, that's where all the planning happens. That's where all the experimental crap happens, and by ‘experimental’ they didn't mean anything beyond twisted intent. Get your head out of the gutter.

He didn't speak when he heard something crash, instead, he continued to read the article as he hummed and played his banjo. Maybe they should send letters to the police, make them jizz out of excitement. That they did something right when all along they didn't, how crushing would that be?

Banjo chuckles, how naïve they all are.

Ricky comes into the room, a calm and blank look matched with slightly disheveled hair. Banjo already knows they're going back into business, they share a knowing grin.

 

* * *

 

Screams, lots of them. But nobody could hear. The victim was tied to a chair, a woman who came into the alleyway drunk. She had nobody and no one with her, at least they assumed so. She should've known better than to trust strangers who lure her elsewhere. She's obviously sober, now.

Ricky smirked, a devilish grin on his face that would have people fear for their lives. His manic grin didn't reach his dead eyes, he kept picking off their fingernails slowly. He watched them squirm and cry, his nails felt weird. He always felt odd, he was an empath. Surprise, surprise.

When he was an obedient kid, a nice child, a goody-two-shoes little shit. He loved everyone, even when they didn't love him back. He cared and tried to make them feel better, but they would all leave him in the dust to rot. Plastic.

The thought makes him chop of the entire digit by accident, the tip of the index finger is now gone; chopped off. The woman screeches in pain, screaming bloody-murder. Pleading, yearning. Poor soul. Banjo moves over to her right, he grabs a scissor and traces it from her shoulder to her wrist. Only at her wrist does he dare to puncture her skin.

The gag manages to come off her mouth, “Please – please don't, I have money. I – I just - pl-please don't.. I don't wa-want to die.” She was quivering, scared.

Banjo's eyes sharpen, disapproval on his face. “That's probably not what you said before. They all say they want to die, but when the bucket has been kicked and is about to rust. People plead for their life.” Banjo snails with disgust.

A lost part of the tall male wants him to understand; but when he tries to, he doesn't. All he sees are the negatives now, it's too late. You know what they say, life is short, you have to live it to the fullest and do whatever you want to make it count. Here they are, making the best out of it.

Ricky smiles, it didn't match his shallow eyes. “It's too late, now,” The woman starts to whimper. “You might as well know who we are, it won't matter in the end.”

The woman's eyes are so watery, it's disgusting. Humanity is disgusting. We're all so awful, we messed up more than the past generations ever have. Everything is over. Society deserves this, it deserves pain. Pain and agony. If they can be selfish, why not them? We're all going to die soon, Ricky and Banjo are simply speeding it up.

“Ricky Goldsworth, Banjo McClintock. R.G and B.M. The so called _Ghoul Boys_ or whatever they call it. You know us?”

The woman's eyes widen, she lets out a sharp cry. Making them very aware that her gag is off. Ricky wraps it around her mouth again, muffling her effectively. Still, he manages to flash a grin, baring his teeth. She's heard of them. Good.

Banjo hums, “Ricky, I don't know what you're up to, but I'm pretty flattered she knows us. Are you a theorist? Who's your favourite, are you a McClaniac or a Goldara?” Ricky glares at his partner, they didn't need this. They're not supposed to joke, they're supposed to taunt.

The woman doesn't speak, her eyes look a bit dazed. Blood loss, trauma, shock? Whatever. Ricky doesn't care. He stares at her golden ring, it's been there for quite a long time. He's never taken it off. It feels wrong, he doesn't know why.

He wants to take it off, but he decides not too. The girl will probably faint if he even tried to take it off, and where's the fun in that? Banjo moves beside Ricky, who was crouched in front of the woman. Banjo crouches down and pulls him closer, Ricky resists showing his confusion on his face to his action. His cheeks a bit hot.

Banjo gives a friendly look before speaking, “We are not a couple.”

The woman's eyes dim in disappointment. Ricky almost wanted to laugh, she was one of them. One of the people who liked them together, how ridiculous. Ricky puts a scalp into one of the fingers that have to nails, the girl shuts her eyes tight. Ricky didn't even do anything, he's just hovering over the empty gap in her finger.

“Poor spouse, they must be worried,” Banjo mimicked a form of sympathy, “Alas, they won't have anything to worry about soon.” Banjo gets his banjo case which was strapped to his back, the placement was parallel to a quiver. He opens his case to find his instrument and lots of dangerous, sharp items.

The girl shudders in fear as she scans through all the items, she's anxious on what he's going to pick. Ricky has his impassive gaze on Banjo, he already knows what he's going to pick.

The lad gets his banjo and plays a few notes. Realizing that Ricky is staring at him, Banjo stares back. They share a silent conversation, words being exchanged nonverbally. The tied up woman feels a sweat roll down her temple. What were they talking about? What's going to happen?

Ricky looks back at the girl, “Have you ever had a concussion before?” He inquired ominously.

The girl gives him a strange look.

There was no warning for the grim bang of an instrument hitting someone, knocking them out immediately. Ricky grabs a knife from Banjo's case and carves something into her skin, the same initials as before. Except, it is incased in a heart. It was carved deep with care.

“How sweet.” Banjo compliments. He closes his case after Ricky puts back the knife.

Ricky left the scene, he didn't say anything on the way out. Banjo follows closely behind, fixing his stained suspenders, blazer and bow tie. He didn't wear his many mustaches today.

 

* * *

 

C.C Tinsley sat at his desk, contemplating. The detective looked at the new victim's pictures, their face was blurry. It was a woman with blonde hair, her body was messed up. Her empty nails sent chills down the detective's spine. It was horrible. She looked so familiar.

The signature initials were the same as before, R/B, except it was surrounded by the shape of a heart. Nobody found any fingerprints, nobody found any indication of where they are or who they are. The woman was told to be last seen at a disco, drunk off her ass. Pity.

Tinsley takes a sip of his coffee, his mind scrambling for theories. He knew one of his theories was correct so far, they were a couple and that's it. That's all they know about the culprits. He runs a hand down his face. He was doing so horrible. Quckily, the detective shoved the invasive thoughts out before they can seep in. He can't give up now.

The doors open to a tear-stained Francesca, Tinsley raises an eyebrow. He places his coffee mug down on his desk and walks closer to the woman, she looked terrible. Her puffed cheeks were stained with dried tears, her hair disbelieved and messy. She was pale, and sadness rolled off of her in waves.

_What happened?_

As if she heard his thoughts, she spoke. “Tinsley,” Her voice cracked, breaking the detective's heart. “You know Holly, right?” Holly Horsely, Francesca's wife.

Tinsley nods slowly, making her eyes slowly fill up with tears. “M-My wife hasn't returned home, she told me she went to go out with some friends.” Francesca walked up to the bulletin board full of the pictures of the new victim, caressing the pictures with shaky hands. She whimpers.

Oh no, is this going where he thinks it's going?

Tinsley instantly stands at her side, watching her carefully. Francesa doesn't look at him, “I-I thought she was lost, or-or stayed at her friend's house. B-But.. Now? I know why.” She hangs her head low. “I wish I didn't.” She whispered, it was so quiet Tinsley nearly didn't catch it. Her voice was interlaced with fear.

Francesca takes a deep breath and looks at him, broken and lonely eyes that longed for another. They contained of vast oceans full of emotions he couldn't describe.

“She's dead.”

Tinsley's chest tightened, Francesa's tears begin to fall once again.

“She's gone, Tinsley, she's _gone_.”

The detective welcomed her into his arms, the woman sobbed and cried. She lost a part of herself yesterday, she recalled her wife's last words. How happy she sounded, her last kiss on the cheek. How free and lively she is – was. She shook with grief, Tinsley rubs her back with comfort.

He holds her tight, she held on to him as if he was a buoy and she was a drowning man. She wanted someone to hold her again. Francesca was normally stern as he was, seeing her torn up and broken was a sight he wished he never existed. It was disheartening.

She kept whispering _I miss her_ , _where is she?_ , _she's gone_ , _she left_. Every word sounded like she was struggling to speak, she struggled to find a hold of something to keep her grounded. C.C Tinsley was the only one she had left, someone else other than her sweet angel who stayed with her when nobody else did.

Holly couldn't make it, how about Tinsley? Is all her loved ones going to go? They're all going to leave?

 _No_.

She was going to keep him safe. Those fiends aren't going to lay a single finger on him, they aren't taking him away. No. Not with her around. They aren't taking another, they need to be tracked down. They need to be sentenced to death, they are not worthy of this world.

So many awful people already exist, why bother turning into one of them? We need more positive people, more people like Tinsley. More people who was true and loving as Holly. _Holly_.

Francesca refused to cry, she didn't want these tears anymore. Her wife wouldn't want this, she didn't like seeing her sad. If she was here, she would jump around and make jokes. What she wouldn't give to see her again, even if it meant trading fates. She would do anything.

They took her away. They took a friendly light in this world who didn't deserve death. Francesca pulled away, her eyes furious. Tinsley tenses at her expression. “We need to find them. These killers, these maniacs. We can't bear another sick bastard.”

Tinsley was speechless, but nodded in encouragement. Francesca turns her head to the bulletin board and frowns, she turns to the detective instead. How precious he is, how dedicated he was to everything. How prone he is to danger. To _death_.

The thought shakes her to the core. She didn't want Tinsley near danger, no. She's not down for that any day. Tinsley didn't deserve death so soon, he didn't deserve to be taken. But how can Francesca prevent that outcome?

Then, there was one thing apparent in Francesca's mind:

Keep Tinsley Safe.

 

* * *

 

Ricky lays down on his couch, he was lazing around. He didn't want to commit crimes as of now. He's too tired, everything seems so much like a daze. It's like he just woke up from a dream, coming back into reality. Waking up to the cruelty. He hated it.

That little boy inside of him, someone who he used to be, managed to jump on him when he least expected it. What a dick.

He felt that horrid emotion, shame. Something many people made him feel, something that turned him into someone else. From kind to worthless, to shame to hysterical. He was lost and he knows it, he managed to find himself just this once. It was foreign to him, looking into himself.

Self-searching was weird, it's been how many days since the murder of what's-her-name and he's been thinking about that ring. He shouldn't be, something so small and little is feeble to a criminal like him. But it was special, it was innocent. It was pure.

He remembered how much he would walk into the fantasy of him being with someone, loving someone. A person who loved him for who he was and didn't run away, didn't point and laugh at him like the other kids did, didn't scowl whenever he walked into a room. He yearned for love.

What was that like?

Banjo told him that in his Benjamin days, somewhere in his teens, he had a girl who was his. He loved her with so much care, as if she was a glass flower who was prone to breaking. He told him how happy he felt, how complete he was. Sadly, the girl didn't think the same and had given his heart to someone else.

Ricky asked him where she was now, Banjo told him she was dead to him. Turns out, that was his first murder. His first time killing someone and burying a body. He was too detached and unstable to realize how bad the thrill was when he figured out he got away, how he should've oppressed his craziness and moved on.

Richard Ryan ~~Bergara~~ ~~~~Goldsworth and Benjamin Shane ~~Madej~~  McClintock; Two loners who lost themselves in the crowd that was society. They could've had a happy life, if they weren't so selfish like the rest of the monsters.

 _I'm a monster_ , the internal voice in Ricky whimpered.

 _I failed mother and father_ , it continued.

It was going to continue invading Ricky's mind until he told himself that this part of him was gone, he banished this vulnerability away. Why was it still here? Why did it even bother? It's too late to turn back. He's already made his mark.

He saw Banjo walk into the living room, playing and quietly singing  _All Star_ on his banjo. If an outsider saw them, they'd only see two people who were dorks. Normal people who lived in a house. Not people who were and are still feared.

Seeing his uncharacteristic distress, Banjo immediately set down on banjo aside and kneeled next to Ricky. “Hey, man. You okay?” He asked, his voice concerned. He held his palm lightly in Ricky's hand subconsciously.

“What's up? Did we get caught?” Ricky shook his head. “Okay.. Then what? What is it?” Banjo asked again, his voice sounding a bit too concerned. He looked normal, he looked casual. Feeling concern to loved ones — wait, Ricky was a loved one?

When did he become a loved one? What did Ricky do to deserve that title? He wondered back to the tice when had met Banjo, when they were sane and the time when they weren't; he wondered why they had stuck together and clicked like perfect puzzle pieces. They stuck together even though they could've parted.

Actually, why did Banjo even stay? 

Why does he bother? Why were they partners? When did the murderous friendship blossom between the two of them? There were suddenly so many questions that popped in his head, the invasive thoughts unexpectedly got him again.

The more he looked at his worried partner, the more he sees the caring nature in his eyes. The realization that he had always looked at him like _that;_ the amount of appreciation, respect, fondness, adulation, and respect in his eyes. How the corners of his eyes seemed to crinkle whenever Ricky was laughing.

Everything he did, it made Ricky feel warmth somewhere. He didn't know what the feeling was, but it was on the tip of of his tongue. It made him feel.. something. Something nice that resonates within' his chest, or something.

It didn't make sense.

Why did Ricky care for Banjo? Like how Banjo cared for Ricky? What even is this? Who were they? What is happening. Man, those invasive thoughts really did a number on him.

Ricky felt someone shaking him, “Ricky – ? You okay man? Do you need a drink?” Banjo asked. His eyes searching for answers, Ricky couldn't help but stare in confusion. Ricky slowly nodded. Banjo gave him a look before going to the kitchen to fetch some water.

Ricky counted from one to ten.

The invasive thoughts are gone, that kid in him is stored away once again. He's back. It's just the monster, now. His worries have faded away, his emotions are confused whether to cooperate with his mind or his heart. Banjo came back in the room with a gallon of water.

Ricky's face scrunched up at the sight of it. He looked back at Banjo, who looked nervous. The serial killer didn't know if the nervousness was for him, or for something else. “What the heck?” Ricky gestured to the gallon of water in his hand.

Banjo gave a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his head with his free hand. “Y-Yeah, I just – yeah..” He laughed awkwardly.

Ricky narrowed his eyes. “What happened?”

“You didn't hear me?” Banjo sighed in relief. “Thank god.”

Ricky's eyes scrutinized in suspicion. Hear? Something happened? ~~Is Benjamin okay?~~

“What was I supposed to hear?” Ricky interrogated, his voice shifting into a firm tone. Banjo's lips were curled upwards in an awkward kind-of smile with his worried eyes, he almost looked constipated. He looked like a child who got caught for doing something bad.

Banjo puts down the gallon of water near the couch where Ricky could reach, he sat cross-legged beside it. “I.. may have broken two plates.” He confessed with embarrassment.

It took five seconds for Ricky to process what happened, he shrugged and rolled to his side. His back facing Banjo. “Whatever. We got extra ones.” He spoke, he didn't care. He can always get new ones anyway.

Banjo looked down, fiddling with his hands. “..and a jar.” He added while mumbling.

Ricky flipped his body towards Banjo with squinted eyes. “What?” He exclaimed with incredulity, “How in the — why?”

“I saw a spider.”

Ricky faced upwards as he groaned, shutting his eyes. Banjo can be an idiot sometimes, no, scrap that. He's always an idiot. He's just a smart idiot. But goodness, he could've been more careful.

 

* * *

 

“I have nothing, detective.”

C.C Tinsley is currently visiting prison, it's not the public kind of prison. He's in another part of the building, cells that are provided for special cases and people who may have taken it up a notch. He's interrogating Night Night and Legs, the leaders of the biggest mafia in the country. They have slaughtered, enslaved, and traumatized hundreds.

Surely, they had some kind of idea who R.G and B.M are. The mysterious culprits even mentioned them (`-.. _and_ _n.n and legs, magnificent work. you were in our top 5 idols_.`) in some cryptic message in blood,surely they had a tie.

C.C Tinsley crossed his arms, Francesca had her fingers impatiently tapping on her other hand. The fancy duo were behind a electric bars, technology nowadays creates fantastic things.

The room the posh two were in looked both advanced and isolating with it's smooth dark navy walls, the floor was covered with cotton rugs. There was only a king-sized bed, a few sheloves of books, toys, and a white door to another room. It's pretty lonely over there.

Night Night stood in front of the electric bars with no interest, Legs was laying down near the wall. His back rested on the ground as his long legs laid amongst the cold wall. He hands were clasped together on his fancy suit. He was sitting upside down.

“Are you sure? The last time you said no – ” Night Night groans, cutting off Tinsley. These two idiots have been pestering him for almost four hours. 

“Detective, those two aren't my spies. I can't talk to anyone aside from this nutcase.” Night Night pointed a finger to Legs, who winked and gave finger guns flirtatiously to Night Night. The smaller man shot a scolding look at him before returning his gaze to the two detectives. “This cell is really efficient, I hope you know that.”

Legs snickered, “Sound proof, too.”

Night Night whipped his head around, a pointed look on his pinked face. The two posh men shared eye contact, one face with a 'subtle' embarrassed look to a smug face, “Zip it, long legs.” Night Night spat, Legs simply sniggered. Tinsley glanced between the two of them. Probably a private topic, he isn't going to ask. He doesn't want to.

Francesca grunts and takes a step closer to the bars, catching Night Night's attention. He faces toward her with a calm expression. Legs watches them both intensely, even though he knows there was a boundary between them, he can't help but be wary. In return of his staring, C.C Tinsley watches him back.

“Do you know who R.G and B.M are? Any bells? Any familiarity?” She interrogates through her teeth, her patience was growing thin. She will smash these electric bars into smithereens if she has to, even if it burns her. She will not hesitate to punch this bugger's face anytime.

Night Night simply puts his hands in his pocket. “No. I told you before, and I will say it again; whoever those two people are, they are not my spies and I am not being told anything. I'm not connected to them in any shape or form, they are strangers to me. It's just me and Legs.” Night Night looks down, eyeing his shoes. “I wish, though. They seem like fun people.”

Francesca's face went from a scowl to an angered look within' seconds, her hands turned into fists. Her knuckles turning white from how tight she curled her fingers. How dare this man call these messed up people  _fun_? They shouldn't be called people in the first place, they're too far off from sanity to be called so.

Francesca leaned forward. Night Night tilts his head, his eyes amused. “Listen, buddy.” She begins, voice dripping with acriminey. “They aren't fun people, they shouldn't be categorized as people. They aren't like you and me. They're messed up in the head, twisted. These folks are more dangerous than you could ever be.”

Tinsley removes his gaze from Legs and moves his attention to his partner. He feels himself feel a bit scared, he felt the anger rolling off of her in tsunamis. It was intimidating.

He glanced at Night Night, the man didn't seem fazed. He actually looked amused, he didn't seem tensed. How is he so calm in the face of wrath? Was it the bars that provided protection? Or was it that he was merely a proper asshole and just didn't give a damn?

He saw Legs move from the corner of his eye, he was getting up from the ground to the side of his.. where did Legs and Night Night's relationship stand? Friendship? No. They don't seem like they are just friends, but it doesn't seem like they're in a relationship either. Interesting. But then again, they have this aura that makes most think they're a couple.

The more Tinsley thinks about it, the more he comes to the conclusion they're together. It gave him a migraine when he thought too much of kit.

“I'll take your word for it. I'm too exhausted to care, I don't know what's gotten you so riled up. None of these murders included you.” The short man muttered. He admits, the last part wasn't necessary. He knows she's angry for a reason, could be for the various amounts of killings that were caused by whoever these people were.

They seem smart. They haven't been caught like they were, Legs and Night Night got caught when they were stupid enough to not care about consequences. If it weren't for that silly mistake, Legs and Night Night's mob would've continued. The mafia would've made the country fear for its life at this very moment. What a pity.

If one were to squint, he was sure they would find steam pumping out of the lady's ears. Her face was red with anger, “They took the one thing that I held dear, the light I saw in my everyday life, the person who made everything — !” Night Night tuned out her rambling.

Night Night raised his palm to settle an index finger and a thumb on the bridge of his nose. Yeah, yeah. He's heard this _you-took-my-loved-one!_ speech dozens of times, he was tired of hearing the same descriptions again and again. Light of My Life was too overrated, what about Stupid Idiot Who Ate All My Cereal? That's underrated.

Night Night shook his head and closed his eyes. “Alright, I get it. Don't start with this nonsense, please. What else do you want from me?” He replied in a defeated tone, he puts down his palm. He felt a hand slowly hold it with care, tightening its grip with comfort. Night Night didn't need to think twice to know who it is.

Meanwhile, Tinsley is wondering how many criminals have recently became a thing. First, The Ghouls. Now, the two mob bosses? Gosh, what's next? It seeps into heroic territory and suddenly, he and Francesca becomes a thing? Please.

Francesca wills herself to calm down, “They mentioned you two, are you sure you have no connections?”

Before Night Night can speak, Legs chuckles. “They did? My, tell them we're flattered.” He smirked widely when the smaller man elbowed him in the ribs.

Seeing the interaction, it makes Francesca remember time back when her wife was alive. She shrugged it off quickly, she did not need that memory now. Maybe later. “Oh, when we get them and put them into the cell near yours, you can say hello like old pals meeting each other. How about that?.”

Legs' eyes had the subtle hint of annoyance, it didn't seem apparent to Francesca as she was too busy having a glaring contest with Night Night. Tinsley noticed, though. Legs' face looked uncomfortably familiar to his, he recognizes the glint of annoyance any day.

“Detectives, we swear we don't know them. They might've just mentioned us because they've heard of us. If _you_ said something about Beyoncé, I doubt it means you know her personally. You're just mentioning her.” Legs informed, wrapping his right arm around Night Night's left. If it weren't for context, they'd be cute.

Tinsley takes a second to think of their future together, minus the mob organization, minus the danger. It's just them living a happy life, they look like dorks who would've argued about sofas or chairs at 4am wearing pajamas while Spongebob was on. Build pillow forts and play shooting games with their hands.

Alas, that was only a fantasy. Perhaps in another universe it was true. Tinsley wished it was this one.

Francesca pursed her lip. Her eyes blanking, she flickers her gaze between the two bosses. She narrows her eyes, “How do we know you're not lying?” Tinsley shrinks as he watched the scene unfold, his eyes darting back and forth.

Night Night rolls his eyes, “How do you know they're trying to throw you off by mentioning us? Has that ever entered your pathetic minds?” He suggests, reluctantly parting their arms apart. He places his hands in his pockets. He takes a single step back. Legs stayed where he was, having a staring contest with Tinsley.

Francesca stays silent. They have thought of that, they're not stupid. Bur, it's better to be safe than to be sorry. She stays quiet, she's afraid if she speaks, she'll go ham. Tinsley nervously looks between his partner and the short mob leader, the glaring contest was getting spicy.

Tinsley reluctantly speaks up, “If you say so..”

The woman whips her head to her partner with wide eyes, “Wh – Tinsley! You're giving up that easily?” She ridicules, her eyes displaying disbelief.

Tinsley looks at her as he exhales through his nose, he raised a white flag; showing defeat. “They aren't budging, and they aren't going anywhere. If it turns out they lied,” He gives a cold look to the two leaders in their specialized cells. “We can always execute one of them.”

Legs' eyes widened, his eyes widening. In instinct, his right arm hovered slightly in a protective manner, as if to block Night Night from the detectives. Tinsley immediately felt bad, then squished that guilt by telling him how awful these people are. A relationship can't simply cover up their horrid actions.

Terrifying mafia leaders who looked for destruction, fear, and anguish. The country is lucky they're behind bars.

Tinsley assumed Night Night's hand were clenching into fists in his pockets, despite his stoic nature. Ther upmost care for each other was visible. It was saddening, but is very useful in terms of blackmail. Weakness, how wonderful.

Legs snarled protectively, “You _wouldn't_.”

Francesca smirked smugly, her eyes glinted in a way that was roguish. It didn't affect the two leaders, or, they tried to not let it get to them. “I most definitely would.”

Night Night's face turned into a frown, he walks towards the bed in the corner and sits down. He rests his upper body on the wall, looking annoyed and tired. Well, it's not a surprise. You lost, and you pay the consequences of your genocidal actions. And being in a cell like this? It must be lonely and tiring.

Legs' keeps his scowl, a dirty look with a glare that made the two detective's chest drop. He was horrifying when he was mad, still, the detective duo refuse to back down. They've finally found a way to corner the two, they have a chance of getting the truth. Legs moves near Night Night, standing next to him.

“God,” Night Night speaks harshly, “All this pointless arguing is leading to nowhere. No matter how hard you push, it's always the same answer; we don't know them. Do I need to spell it out for you?” He remarks, his voice firm. It's wavering a little since he heard of the threat, but he's glad nobody detects it. Except Legs, who brushes a comforting hand across his bicep, of course he notices.

Tinsley raises his arms exaggeratingly towards the two, he turns his head to Francesca. She still somehow looks both furious and smug. “They aren't budging. Let's go, come on.” Tinsley turns to the exit, he opens the door a little and waits there for Francesca to follow.

Francesca walks behind begrudgingly, but pauses when she's halfway out.

“If you did end up lying, you know what the consequences are; and I'm willing to let it happen without notifying you.”

Letting it happen without them knowing, tearing them apart without any warning. Steal what's close, let the other watch their world burn. That's what happened to Francesca, it wouldn't hurt to let them experience it too. They deserved it anyway, they all do. Bastards.

Tinsley winces, he's not willing to stoop that low. It's near a monster's kind of low, they're simply fighting fire with fire. He leaves the prison without a word, his partner following behind with an aura of anger trailing behind her.

This was going to be a long day.

 

* * *

 

Banjo is currently fixing his banjo, Ricky tried to ask him why he's fiddling with the strings and the knobs at the top. Apparently it's because 'it's part of music motherflipper, I'm changing that pitch'. Ricky never talked to him again after that.

They're both sitting in front of the TV. Bored. One might think they're normal adults lazing around, but they aren't. They're having a break from being hysterical, insane people. Just six minutes ago in the basement, they were both laughing and cackling at the idea of killing methods. Tons of dark humour themed jokes were made.

Ricky's expression was the usual, blank. He was staring at the TV as he watched the credits scroll up the screen, he tried to made it look like he's trying to see what's next. He had zoned out the minute he sat on the sofa.

Banjo's gaze glanced up towards Ricky, momentarily looking at him up and down to see if he's okay. Then his eyes focus on the TV screen, he saw a text down below telling them that _Paddington_ was next. His hazy eyes perked up, he stops fiddling with his banjo and straightens his posture.

He turns to the zoned out Ricky four feet away from him, “Ricky!” The man blinked, he turns to Banjo with a glare. “Look! It's your favourite film, Paddington.” Banjo pointed at the TV. Ricky's head turns towards the TV, his brows furrowing.

Huh, whaddya' know. It's the bear he really loved as an innocent child, he had two Paddington Bears when he was young. He called one of them Paddy and Moony in honour of Harry Potter, they were both helpful to his mental health. He always talked to them about the troubles in school.

Does he still have them? Yes.

Supposedly, Ricky wanted to throw them out. Rip them apart, take all the fluff inside out, rage. But he realized he couldn't find it in him to do so; consequently, he kept them. He didn't know why, maybe it's because they were basically coping mechanisms and/or inanimate friends. Or it was a souvenir of his childhood. Whatever deep crap there is.

They're disappointed in him, though. He knows. Banjo never questioned why he bothered to keep them, instead of teasing, he joked about how silly it was to have a feared, cold-blooded murderer have a teddy – no, _two_ teddies to company him when he was lonely.

Ricky would smile and roll his eyes, the two rarely brought up past memories. It made them spiral into an identity crisis and a whirl of madness, but oh well. 

“Huh,” Ricky stated, no emotion in his voice. “Wonderful.”

Banjo stayed quiet after, he assumed Ricky didn't want to talk. His mind always told him to not talk to the short guy whenever he was like this, all distant and could strike at any time, but being a stubborn guy who didn't care about his actions. He kept yapping, Ricky Goldsworth was his dearest and only friend. He made everyday worth being evil.

He kept his eyes locked on the nonchalant male, relaxed and slumped against the sofa. His dark shirt, long pants, kitty socks and beanie made him look like a regular man. The man he used to be, that's what he would've turned out and looked like. Ricky said he had a different surname growing up, Goldsworth was an alias he got used to.

Banjo also had another surname, McClintock was something he made up on the stop. Madej. He told himself that he didn't deserve that family name anymore, he should move that behind and make a new one. So he did.

Banjo wanted to ask why. He wanted to ask what was his past surname, the name he grew up with before the madness happened. When they lived a casual lifestyle. When they were _them_. The actual them. Banjo held back a shiver, oh, it was tremendous. He never asked.

Suddenly, Ricky was a stranger.

Not the unfamiliar, I-don't-know-them-at-all kind of stranger. No, he was familiar with Ricky. It's just that he seems like a present waiting to be opened, a box full of mysteries and treasure. He was intriguing. Banjo liked that about him.

He wished he knew more, he wished he understood him better. He wanted to be closer. It's what his heart wanted, he didn't know where this little stupid mindset of having Ricky curl up into him whenever he was lonely came from. It made him feel happy, though. He's never felt purely happy in a long time.

But there was something else there, too.

He has no idea where it came from. It came out of nowhere.

He was afraid of the word, he was afraid of the feeling; he knew exactly what it was. And he was scared of it. A part of his heart has been cold and empty ever since the first time he felt the weird emotion, the emotion he'd grown to hate. Ricky came along and say in that cold part of his heart and made it warm.

It was his fault he was feeling this way, Banjo wanted to hate Ricky for it. He wanted to douse the short man in his sleep and set him alight, it was better than admitting his feelings. He made him revisit an emotion that made him this way, made him go into a road that was and still is frowned upon.

He couldn't, though. Not with his heart spiking every time he walked by.

Banjo knew there was something there since the very beginning of their partnership; he would feel hot whenever Ricky's face lightened at his idea, he would wake up wondering what he and Ricky would do today, what kind of thrill will happen, if Ricky merely only wanted to hang out, then that was fine with Banjo.

It must've showed itself when the detective's gave the theory of them being a thing. Even though he laughed at it, it made him feel like he was on cloud nine. The idea made him flutter with glee. He wouldn't ever admit it out loud, but he fancied the idea of them being a thing.

Returning to reality where he was staring at Ricky, who was watching the current film with childish interest. He saw how passive he was in the moment, how engrossed he was in the movie. The ends of Banjo's lips automatically curved upwards, the sight was innocent. Banjo's eyes dimmed, looking down at his banjo.

Ricky didn't feel the same.

He would never feel the same.

Banjo gave himself a moment to breathe, he carried on adjusting his instrument weakly. Ignoring his heart pounding sadly in his chest.

 

* * *

 

“What.”

Ricky grinned at his confused partner. Banjo blinked rapidly once more to process what he is currently witnessing in front of his two eyes at four in the morning, it's too early. What the hell?

There, five feet away from Banjo McClintock is Ricky Goldsworth, wearing his pajamas, standing above what appears to be an unconscious man with a devious light in his tired eyes. They're in the kitchen, too. Banjo is standing in the doorway and he sees _this_.

Additional context, just a minute ago; Ricky was dragging this man across the tiles, Banjo just so happened to walk into the scene and interrupt. He just wanted coffee.

Alas, this is what happens when you're partners with Ricky. Unfortunately.

Banjo runs a hand down his face, he raises a palm to gesture towards the unconscious male on the floor. “What is this? Dude, we agreed to do this tomorrow.” Banjo complained, his voice coarse and tired. He feels like he should be offended. He is, actually. He's a bit hurt, but he's too exhausted to care. He's so done with Ricky.

Ricky smiles like a child, the sight could label itself as creepy if Banjo didn't know this man enough. He chuckles, his eyes glancing down at the body resting on the floor before looking up at Banjo. His eyes twinkling with ruinous intent.

Ricky shrugs innocently, “Oh, I couldn't wait. This is more passive than the usual, and I have a plan to make this more exciting.” Without giving the taller make a chance to reply or ask questions, he continued to drag the body into the next room. He could've just picked the poor guy up, Ricky's ripped as hell. He'll have no problem.

Then again, he's probably out of his mind at the moment and doesn't care.

Banjo sighs, he straightens out his pajamas before continuing to make two mugs of coffee. One for him, because he really, really needs it. One for Ricky, because he is also in need of it. They're both going inbetween realities because of sleepiness and Banjo is not up for that at the moment.

After making the two drinks, he drinks some of his own before heading to the basement. Past rooms, going through rooms, tip-toeing down stairs. When he reaches the door to his destination, he looks at his coffee with disappointment. People say this gives him them energy, right? Well. None of that happened. It only made his heart faster.

He resists the urge to groan and roll his eyes then head back to bed. He looks at the door in front of him, Ricky was on the other side. Best not let him down.

Banjo manages to open up the door after a couple attempts full of struggle. He's greeted with the sight of Ricky looming over the unconscious male on the couch. Yes, a couch. A folksy furniture.

No, their basement wasn't creepy and no, it wasn't dark and full of equipment of torture. Well, maybe they did have a secret stash for those items somewhere but eh. Overall, their basement looks like an extra room or something. Like a duplicate of their living room; but without the plants and books. There's a lot less furniture down here.

“I made us some coffee, Rick.” Ricky turns his head towards Banjo, blinking out of his trance. He nods as a thank you before walking towards Banjo to retrieve his drink, the two stood by each other as they drank their bitter coffees.

Ricky nudges his head towards the sleeping male, “You should've made him some, where's your manners?” Ricky quipped, his voice drowsy. Seems like they're both high on sleepiness, huh. Ah, well. Doesn't really matter. Sleepy, high Ricky was a sight that Banjo was glad he could witness.

“My manners are only limited to you and me, baby!” Banjo cheered, raising his drink. He ignored the obvious delusion of the smaller male's cheeks slightly pink-ish. He takes another sip.

Ricky snickers and shakes his head. He takes a sip, too. His eyes focus on the body, the plan he had didn't include torture or weapons. He's going to do something passive, but aggressive at the same time. Passive-aggressive murder, oh yeah.

The two walk over to the wooden chairs with fluffy pillows on them. Both of them taking the time to rest, Ricky keeps glancing at the sleeping male just in case he starts to stir. When he found out he wasn't waking up, he returned his attention to Banjo.

They both chattered about the different kinds of bread, to whatever the plan is, to the detectives. They having a small bet if the two detectives were together, or if Mr. Detective was with another person or he was single. Ricky bets his ass he's taken, Banjo on the other hand, believes that 'he's totally a single broski'.

Ricky wheezed once and awhile and it's a contagious sound, it makes Banjo grin and follow his action. They both keep hushing each other (mostly Banjo) because there is someone who's asleep.

“Banjo. Hear me out here–”

Said man shook his head and leaned back in his chair, “No. Nope. I'm not listening to you, Ricky.”

“–I'm telling you, he's not a virgin.” Ricky stated. Banjo spluttered incredulously at his supposedly persuasive action, they've been arguing whether Mr. Detective got laid or he didn't for hours. They've had a conflict whether he's with someone, and they both settled on not caring about his love life. Now this.

Right now, Ricky has this goofy smirk on that Banjo melted under. He looks so silly. So uncharacteristic, unusual. He's usually passive and cold, or he shows a little bit of humour but not this much.

He seems so pure and in the moment he looks so perfect and – wow this coffee in Banjo's hand has got to have some weird shit in it. The sleepiness has truly gotten to them.

It's been another couple hours, and Ricky falls silent halfway through their talk about talking hotdogs. Banjo has been so into the topic that he hasn't seen Ricky move from his place.

Banjo blinks as he registers the sight of Ricky getting a circular pill. It looks like an aspirin except it looks slightly bigger. Maybe two centimeters more than the original aspirin, it's still coloured white. It looks innocent, but seeing how Ricky is grinning makes Banjo think otherwise.

Ricky keeps grinning, examining the tiny hell he made. “Why won't you look at that? A pill.”

Banjo leans back after putting down his mug on the table, he folds his arms. Seems like serious murder time again. “Alright, stop with the theatrics, Goldie. What's up?”

“Goldie?” Ricky repeats.

Banjo shrugs, “I'm high, deal with it. Don't make me call you Goldilocks.”

Ricky snickers, keeping the pill mysterious for a few more seconds before its reveal of what the heck Ricky intended it to be; the pill's innocent nature suddenly turned ominous as Banjo awaited for his answer

“This pill isn't just an ordinary pill; the save-your-life gives-good-vibes pill. No. This is a pill that can guarantee to grant you internal pain and suffering,” Ricky turns his head towards the sleeping man casually, “And that man right there? He's experiencing it, right now.”

Banjo's eyes widen by a fraction, it's not out of fear. He's not afraid. It's just that he's shocked that a man that looks like he's having the best beauty sleep of his life, is actually experiencing agony at this very moment. If he squints, he could see that the man's chest hasn't risen in awhile.

He was concerned at first that this might be the most craziest Ricky has ever been. Ricky and calm death? What a rare combo. Next thing Banjo knows, Ricky tells him that this makes the consumer experience what's it like to meet death before dancing with fate. Ricky was his usual self, after all.

Banjo nods slowly before grabbing his mug, “Gosh, Goldsworth. Don't you think you're being a bit too cocky? Tone it down a notch, you're going to give everyone a headache.”

Ricky smirks, “By everyone, you mean just you. Right, McClintock?”

Yes, you truly do give me headaches. And sometimes it's just because of annoyance.

The taller male ignores the spike in his heartbeat, it doesn't mean anything. He splutters before waving his hand dismissively, “Please, do I really look that similar to Findley over here?” He remarked with a lopsided smile, eyeing Ricky.

“Tinsley.” Ricky corrected, amusement dancing in his eyes. “And yes, you do look like him. And you look like Legs, too.”

Banjo hums, he looks up at the ceiling before answering. Ricky was right. Those two people could easily be his doppelgängers, they're so parallel in terms of looks. Long lost mile-limbed legged brethren. Ah, how wonderful. Now that's a story.

How did they know what the two looked like? Come on, have you heard of peering over your acquaintances? Stalking?

They got curious of what Mr. Detective looked like, apparently he looks like Banjo. Way too much like Banjo, excerts he appeared more sane. Legs was basically what a love child between Banjo and Tinsley, Banjo deadpanned at Ricky after he said that.

(“Did you and Tin Can hit it off or something? Look at that suited lad, all fancy but crazy. He's got that from you, surely. Calm and clever? Obviously from third letter of the alphabet.”

“Sod off, Richard.”

“Make me, Benjamin.”)

What a mad man.

After zoning out, he looks back at Ricky. He takes a sip of his coffee before speaking, “Wasn't there a thing where people said that there are seven of you in the world?” Banjo gasps before Ricky can reply, he leans forward with interest of this revelation. “Does that mean I just need to find out who the other four are? Ricky, this is a revelation!” Banjo cheers.

Ricky sips his coffee, refusing to show his amusement through sounds. He sets his mug on the table while shaking his head, this chap sitting across him right now is goddamn entertaining. He deflected the fact that there is a possibility of a corpse on their precious sofa for movie nights, it's gonna stink.

He stares at Banjo for a couple seconds before commenting, “No offense, but I wouldn't wish to have six more of you in my life. Too many banjos,” Banjo snickers. “I only need one, and that's you.”

Banjo's snickering grow less as he struggles to calm his heart, that sounded more intimate than what it was supposed to sound like. It was too much, too much for his poor heart. Banjo could only smile it off as if it didn't affect him, hitting him like a hunter shooting down a bird. Oh, how it hurts.

Ricky had immediately looked away, storing away his whole face from Banjo. Did he regret telling him that, realizing how much accidental passion was put in it? Can passion even be accidental? It shook Banjo.

A tiny part of him hoped Ricky had meant that, that it was a foreshadow to his inner emotions. That he might've shown his heart and awaited for Banjo's response, waited what he was going to say. Banjo didn't want him to be let down if that was the outcome. So he spoke before he could stop himself.

“Yeah,” The taller male laughed. “If I had seven of you, I wouldn't even know what to do. But if I had none, I wouldn't live on, man. One of you is enough to keep me sane.” Internally, he screeched at how awkward he sounds. How desperate he was. Why must he be so compulsive?

He scolded his imagination for making himself see a hallucination of Ricky turning to him with surprise, before slowly smiling fondly. How the corners of his eyes crinkled softly with a glimmer of an emotion Banjo refused to see was true. He didn't deserve this man's affection, he didn't deserve his friendship, he didn't deserve Ricky.

His smile was real, his surprised look was imaginary. It had to be.

It was merely a delusion. That's what he believed in. There was an easier way to end this feeling that had blossomed in Banjo's chest, he wished he knew what those easier ways were. Ricky deserved better, a lot better. Not him.

He watches Ricky get up from his chair and crouched next to the potentially dead man that rests on their sofa. He raises up the small circular pill in his hands.

“This pill can do wondrous things, Clinny.”

Banjo's mind buffered, he tilts his head. “Clinny?” He repeated with a disbelieving smile.

“Yes, _Clinny_. You called me Goldie, I call you Clinny. It's even.” Ricky explained, Banjo nodded.

Ricky continues, “Anyways, I've made it so that this pill can grant tons of internal pain upon its consumer, maybe so much as to kill them. It looks like their peacefully sleeping, but they're actually not.” The shorter bloke informs deviously, his voice shifting into another tone. It's as if he was doing a dramatic read of something.

He kept going on and on about how the pill can do massive damage to the consumer, how less bloody everything would be. How confused the two detectives will be. Ricky grinned, it was fantastic.

Who knows how many hours they consumed by Ricky, who simply boasted about how fantastic his pill is while listing down at least fourteen facts about it with too much detail in each description, and Banjo, who nodded and only replied to the conversation through _mhm, wow, yes, amazing!, tell me more, tremendous!, wonderful_.

Ricky then suggested they should leave hints of their whereabouts for their next murder. Of course, not their home. Where they are now. This place belonged and should only be found by the two of them alone, no one else.

Apparently, Ricky believes in the supernatural. Banjo calls bull, but plays along. When he suggested to leave hints, he meant where they could be before the next murder hits. Like a teaser. It's a bit risky, but he knows it's a good game of cat and mouse. When they're caught, it's a good game. If they're killed? Oh ho.

They're going to haunt their house, potentially live there as spirits. Or haunt the detectives. Pretty much have a swell time.

(“That's never going to happen, Ricky.”

“It sounds enjoyable enough, doesn't it?”)

Soon, they two place the body in some random place. They made some changes to the male's body to actually indicate he is, in fact, dead and not asleep for a long time. Like a few minor cuts and of course, R/B. The ol' signature.

The two have a chat about the place they should drop hints, or give a brief explanation of where they are. They chat about their next murder, what to do, where to go. How fast they can do it before the police comes.

They place a note in one of the deep cuts of the sleeping male, they pack up what they need before heading out. Movie night will have to be on hiatus for awhile.

Banjo's concerned, but if Ricky's by his side. He'll go through anything.

 

* * *

 

Francesca paces around, Tinsley is the one giving her the needed coffee now. The roles have been switched ever since her wife's death, Tinsley wondered if she was going through anger or bargaining. He hears her mumble something about killing off the murderers if her wife could come back sometimes, he's deeply concerned.

He didn't want Francesca to worry, he didn't want her to be stressed. They're both examining the body, but there's no trauma. There's no indication of how this person died, it couldn't be a suicide. Who cuts their skin deeply, make drawings through deep slices, and chops chunks of their skin? No one.

They're both inspecting the body along with the police, photographers are trying to take pictures while passerby's are trying to look in beyond the yellow tape with black stripes and bold letters spelling out **CAUTION** and **CRIME SCENE**. There are of course police men holding them off and blocking out most of the scene from onlookers, especially to those with gadgets that can take photos.

Tinsley sighs as he watches his partner lean closer to the body, police and a couple of other investigators are searching for more clues and evidence. But there seemed to be none. They couldn't find a weapon, they couldn't find any fingerprints or any clues of who the two culprits would be.

“There has to be something, anything! They can't hide forever, they'll get bored of this – this chase that hasn't progressed. Surely.” Francesca is practically begging at this point, she's hungry for revenge. Revenge for her wife, revenge for the victims, revenge for everything they've done.

Her partner in crime solving had grown very concerned for her mental stability, seeing her drink every Friday night. However, she avoided bars or discos like the plague. She only bought beverages and only drank at home, she stays up and night. She often visits Tinsley's house for comfort or to vent out feelings.

Before her wife's death, she was healthy. Always sat upright, was always attentative. She was strict on her sleeping schedule, she balanced her appetite. She was a social butterfly and was always polite. However, all of that did a 180° on the day Holly had left earth. She's the opposite of everything.

The only exception and the only person who was spared her angry curses, glares, and insults was C.C Tinsley. She only opened up to him, she smiled at him; hugged him; compliment him on his work. She was only friendly to him, everyone else? She slammed the door on them.

Tinsley understood her, though. He would be a mess too if he was in her shoes, if someone close to him had been stolen. He would've lost his mind, too. Except he'd maybe he more passive about it and not hellbent.

Tinsley rests a hand on her shoulder, she flinches and recoils. Turning around to glare at the person who dared touch her, when she realized it was Tinsley, she softened and apologized. Tinsley forgave her. “You found anything?”

The woman huffs out a dry laugh, “No. I'm afraid not, care to help a buddy out?” Francesca requests, her eyes kind.

When Tinsley gazed deeper into her eyes, he could see how confused, hurt, and broken she was. How grief has consumed her whole, how she wished it would be over. How much she missed a special someone.

Peering through her eyes, the so called the window of the soul, it told him many things. He could see the agony and anguish, the flame of anger that ignited in her scared soul, how her heart was trying to rebuilt herself, how much pressure she put herself under without knowing. She looks absolutely livid on the outside, but in the inside, she's crying out for help.

It was saddening.

A fierce woman like her didn't deserve such tragedy. She deserved to live through her love life, she deserved happiness. Instead here she is, wallowing in a storm full of emotions. All rooted by fear.

“Of course, Norris.” Francesca didn't say anything more, she continued to look around with a more settled demeanor.

After searching through the male's body, when Tinsley thought he couldn't find anything. He starts to curl into himself as his eyes zero on a small paper embedded into one of the deep slits of the man's corpse, he resists the urge to belch.

It was definitely wedged in there, Tinsley stepped forward. His hand reaching out for the small paper. Slowly slipping it out of it's bloody place, he makes a sound as if he's about to barf. He doesn't. He pulls the tiny piece of paper closer to his vision.

Instantly, Francesca is by his side. “What? What is it, Tinsley?” She asks in a hurry. Is this it? Did they finally initiate the proper cat and mouse chase? Are they finally giving themselves in?

Tinsley calls for a lieutenant's attention, having a little brief chat about the note. Another investigator join in. Francesca keeps following him, shaking him to ask whatever the heck is in that paper. When the male detective finally parts and the other two leave to move out to another state, he shows the piece of paper to her.

Even though she felt slightly offended that he didn't show the paper to her first, she was glad she had the time to prepare for what was in it. And what was in it was something she was quite unprepared for.

She expected words, letters, a cryptic meaning. Not a flag.

Not the Colorado flag with a drawing of a spring on the back side of the paper.

“They're in Colorado Springs.” Tinsley states, Francesca's breath hitches. The two culprits are finally starting the proper chase, finally. “We need to move, now. They could be doing anything.”

Tinsley drags her by the arm to follow the rest of the cops and investigators to move quickly, Francesca was still as a statue. She was frozen, they were actually about to do this. Actually trying to be on their tail, trying to catch them. They might meet them, in person. The two monsters.

Her thoughts run wild with worry and anger, but it all leads to one thought:  _Keep Tinsley Safe_.

She sees the male look at her with confused as he drags her frozen form, he's searching her face for answers as to why. He looks so confused. Francesca can't blame him.

She, a detective who has been relentless about finding even the tiniest clue to her wife's culprits, has frozen in her place when evidence finally arrives. Shouldn't she be frolicking with joy and sprint at their location?

Yes, yes she should be.

But then that would mean Tinsley would have to come. Tinsley, her partner in solving crime. Her friend. C.C Tinsley. The only person she has left could _die_.

They're in a game of cat and mouse, the murderers could easily kill off one of them if they so pleased. They're in a ring with them, once they step in. The two killers will be exposed, however, it means Francesca and most importantly, Tinsley, will be exposed too.

Her mind went into static as three words fogged her brain, murmuring:

Keep Tinsley Safe.

 _Keep Tinsley Safe_.

 _Tinsley. Safe. Always_.

She parts from Tinsley's grip harshly, recoiling her arm back. She almost regrets it when she sees Tinsley's face full of shock. She pushes her regret to the back of her mind, this was for his own good. She can't lose him either. She will not allow it.

Tinsley holds his hands to his chest, worry increasing on his face. “Francesca?” He whimpers, almost like a hurt puppy. Francesca could only stare at him with glassy eyes, if she lets her emotions take over, she can't tell him off. She'll fail in trying to save him.

“You can't come.”

Tinsley's eyes widened, “What?” He ridiculed. “Why not? We've come all this way — ”

Francesca takes a step forward to prove her point, Tinsley backs up an inch. Her face was stern and her eyes were stone, what is happening? Did he do something wrong? Why was she.. “Don't argue with me, C.C Tinsley. This isn't your fight anymore.”

Tinsley attempts to keep calm, he needs to figure out why he can't come. “What's wrong, Francesca? Why can't I come?” He questions. His voice was somewhat firm, his tone wobbled with worry. His friend was suddenly acting up for no reason, he had to find out why. He could hear lightning from outside, making him flinch. There's dark clouds above them.

Francesca's lips quivered. She knows she'll probably spiral into madness if Tinsley doesn't come, he's her mental support and coping mechanism. He's the only thing that kept her sane. But if he comes, he could end up the same way her wife did. The thought makes her teeth grit.

Leaving him behind is better than brining him along, at least he's _alive_. That's all that matters to her. Keeping Tinsley safe.

Francesca inhales before speaking, “You have the chance to die, Tinsley. It's too risky.”

Tinsley's eyes blank, and it hurts Francesca. She wonders what was happening, she wonders what thoughts are shifting in his head. His face morphs into a disconcerted demeanor, he looks apprehensive about everything suddenly. His eyes squints, he's trying to search for answers but he can't.

“But we found them, we have a chance to catch them, Norris. Together.”

Tinsley was taken aback by the snarl on Francesca's face, “No. Not _together_ , there's no us in this anymore. Do you hear me?” She orders, her voice sharp as a knife. It makes a clean cut through Tinsley's heart, he feels himself small. He doesn't know why he feels betrayed, she's just protecting him — 

Tinsley gives the woman hurt, but strong eyes. He ignores the hurt in his chest, begging him to do whatever it takes to come with. Francesca – “What's the big deal, Francesca? We finally figured out a potential place where we could catch them, shouldn't you be happy?”

“I am!” Francesca yells, Tinsley opens his mouth to continue, but the woman was a step ahead of him. “But here's the thing, I can't have _you_ here. I can't have you near them. You'll get hurt, Tinsley – ” The male detective's eyes widen, he feels offended and he doesn't know why.

“I'm not a child, I've witnessed hundreds of bodies and saw culprits before. This isn't an exception.” Tinsley exclaimed.

Francesca's eyes narrow sharply, “It is. You just don't understand.”

She's only protecting you, a voice in him whispers. But another voice tells him that the woman isn't capable of going alone, her mind is unstable. She needs someone to keep her in check, someone to keep her grounded. She's currently trying to pass grief, and going alone to a dangerous place isn't good.

 _Protect her_.

“You need me, Norris. You can't go on you're own in a state like this, in a state so unstable. I need to help you. Let me — ”

Francesca doesn't hear any of it. She won't hear it, she refuses to. The rational part of her brain is trying to break through but she refuses to let it in. Tinsley needs protection, he needs to back off, now. No questions. He needs to be safe.

 _Protect him_.

Francesca runs a hand through her hair out of stress. “Tinsley, why can't you just listen to me? I'm only trying to protect you from danger, is it really that hard to understand?” Francesca fondles with her hands, trying her best to not cry. She hates yelling at her loved ones. No, loved one. Singular. There's only one left.

“Yes! You're going through grief, Francesca. And besides, we'll always find a way together. That's why we're one of the top detectives. We're the Crime Solving Duo!” Tinsley tries again, the two don't care they're in public. Their argument wasn't as loud because of everyone else chattering over. “Please, just let me come with you.”

Not too mention, when had it started raining?

Whatever. It didn't matter. Francesca balls her fists tight, “I don't care about that anymore, Tinsley! It's _you_ I care about now, you need safety. You need to be far away from those horrid creatures!” The woman screamed, a strong breeze flows past. Intensifying the atmosphere.

Why couldn't he understand? Why won't he understand?

Tinsley bites back a shiver, “I'm not leaving you to go alone, I'm coming whether you like it or not.” He states, his voice cold. This was for her own good.

Francesca halts herself for a few seconds before her face turns into fury. He's not going. He won't and will _not_ – “You don't have a choice, Tinsley.” Her voice dripped with harsh venom, but it was monotone and cold. Her heart broke. She could feel the tears spilling, mixing in with the rain.

She could see Tinsley cry too, if it wasn't the rain. It made her feel sad, she made him cry. She's supposed to protect him, not make him sulk. Soon, that sadness turned into anger. He should've understood, he should've known. She's only trying to help, help him survive this hell – but it was her fault for making him mad, it was her who started the argument.

She was angry at herself. Her wife wouldn't have wanted. Holly wouldn't have wanted this. _My precious Holly_ , her mind cried. The flash of her cold, pale skin put up in a photo makes her shiver. She could picture her frowning in disapproval, and it hurts so _bad_.

Tinsley's jaw clenched, “Why not?” He scowled. Taking a step closer. Francesca doesn't move.

Instead, She looks at her reopened hands before curling her fingers into a tight fist. Her sharp eyes turned into exasperated eyes, “I care about you!” Francesca screams. “I don't want you to wind up like my wife, I don't want you to die!”

The words seem to slap Tinsley in the face, he falls silent. He wants to yell back, but he can't. He doesn't see anger anymore, he sees the interior emotions coming to the surface. He sees a lonely and fragile woman hoping for the best, wishing for a better outcome. Yearning for someone, longing for warmth. Francesca Norris.

“I don't want to lose you, too.” Francesca mutters, exhausted. Her eyes get dragged to her tight fists that trembled more than earthquakes, she sees her watch and realizes how much time she's wasted. She could've done better, she should've –

Her hands clasp on to her face, holding her head in her hands. The rain pours harder, a loud thunder crackles in the distance. It doesn't matter. “I don't want you to go like she did, you don't deserve to go out that way. Tinsley.” Her voice cracks, her walls crumbling down.

Tinsley's chest is pounding with adrenaline. He knows he should stop, but he should help. This is a woman who is calling for aid, she needs a hand. She's lonely and she's yearning, she's going through rough waves and dares to go on her own. Tinsley won't allow that.

Tinsley carefully makes his way over, his arms wrap around her in an embrace. The tears are falling. They're both exhausted. Tinsley rubs circles on her back, making shushing noises to calm her down. He understands her pain. He understands her tantrum.

Francesca wraps her arms around him in a vice grip, sobbing out explosively. “Please,” She sniffs. “Don't come with me, please I just, I — I don't, I'm sorry Tinsley. I'm so sorry, please just don't come with me. That's all I ask.” She keeps insisting, she keeps sobbing. The rain is pouring. Another crackle of thunder booms in the distance.

Tinsley is contemplating whether to go, he deflates as he sighs. He shuts his eyes tight. He feels so tired, all those times he spent up, all those sleepless nights. It's all crashing into him. It's all so pitiful. Speaking is tiresome, yelling? It's beyond exhausting.

 _Let me come with you_ , he wanted to say.

 _I just want to help_ , he wanted to add.

 _I'll always be here for you_ , he would then finish.

But C.C Tinsley doesn't say a word, he doesn't argue back. Instead, the two detectives pull away hesitantly as their arms untangle. The rain crashes harder, the wind blows past. Tinsley looks at the quivering woman with defeat.

“Alright, I won't go.”

Francesca felt like the weight of her shoulders just got lifted, as if millions of sins just left her conscience. She beams, though it was hard through all the agony inside. “Really?” She asked for confirmation. He can't be serious.

Tinsley nods, “Really.”

Francesca smiles, she looks better. But soon she won't be, they both exchange their last hugs and goodbyes. Tinsley pats her on the back as she turns to leave, half of the police and investigators had already left. Majority of the crowd has disbanded. Only a few cops had stayed to wait for Francesca. She walked towards a car.

Before she got in, she waved Tinsley goodbye.

He looked so lonely, waving in the rain, all soaked and alone. It was for his own good, Francesca just wants to keep him safe.

As Tinsley watches the car leave, his eyes glint mysteriously. He puts his hands into his pocket as he walks elsewhere. His chest burns with anguish, his heart was damaged. But he manages to find himself, he does was he usually does. Look for the part of the brain that's causing the feeling, and switch it off.

After heading to his house and getting his necessary items, he calls up a taxi. He knows it's a bit far and he should just take the flight to Colorado, but most likely Francesca is going to be there. So he's taking the slightly long way.

After all, she only said not to come with her, she never said not to trail behind.

 _I'll always be here for you_ , Tinsley repeats the words he wanted to say in his head. He's coming, Francesca. Whether you like it or not. Rock and roll, buckaroo.

Colorado, here he comes.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry not sorry.  
> itgotreallylongbutipromiseimwritingmore.
> 
> poor tinsley boy


End file.
